


Lonely

by mocinno



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Canon, Sad, no happiness. only sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27507550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mocinno/pseuds/mocinno
Summary: Byleth, for what little emotions she has, gets lonely without her king.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Blyeth/Claude ending.

Five months.

It had been five months since Claude left for Almyra.

Byleth grew cold in his absence, colder than she realized.

Seteth would note it, on some days. He would use his gentler tone, the one he reserved for only Flayn and Byleth. The chastising was usually brief, simple remarks of glaring at nobles or deadpan expressions at crucial moments of sympathy. Her response was always the same miffed nod of understanding.

In any face, she saw _him._ Missed _him._ Whatever feeling burned in her heart, it threatened to consume her, set her entire body alight. Her tea parties felt hollow, the Leicester Cortania bitter on her tongue.

Byleth was wandering the hall, once, in the dead of night. Mostly, she was out for a glass of water and a hug if she could bear it. Her feet took her atop the castle’s tallest spire. It wasn’t unlike the Goddess Tower, with its open roof area and stone walls; as she leaned against them, her eyes found the stars twinkling in the sky.

Her heart nearly started when she heard the beat of a wyvern’s wings and a familiar voice, almost like _his._ She turned, excited, the fire and ice burning her heart all the same.

She sunk like a feather at the sight of Seteth’s worried expression, lacking words but urging her to bed all the same. 

His night patrols. She had forgotten. She didn’t hold it against him, of course, simply walked back to her room with leaden legs and arms so cold they burned.

The worst of it was in Verdant Moon. She’d locked herself in the castle for a month, to the point that townsfolk began to worry for their queen’s regular city visits.

She was fine; it was simply a busy month. She was working non-stop. It wasn’t a complete lie, either; she did spend a certain amount of time at her desk, penning letters and organizing public works projects.

Seteth insisted she take better care of herself.

After three days of staying cooped up in her room, he resolved to drag her out, only to find a queen buried in her bedsheets, her hair an oily rag and her face gaunt from sleepless nights.

His touch on her shoulder burned her skin and she flinched, burying her head into her pillow. Even the gentle brush of Hilda’s glove on her arm was enough to make her shudder in her sheets.

He and Hilda left the room together in a huddle of whispers, and Byleth was alone once more.

The ring on her finger felt like it was toxic, the poison seeping into her skin through the cool metal. Perhaps there was a deadly, slow-acting disease crawling through the green gemstones, or a tracking spell for the sniper outside her window.

It was a foolish thought.

* * *

When the dredges of the Empire strike the city, she’s emotionless. Seeing a white wyvern, its rider leading a massive Almyran force behind him, gave her a feeling of burning ice in her gut. Soldiers fall around her. Eventually, they’re pushed back, the city is saved, and she’s surrounded by hurrah’s and cheering villagers.

Seteth moves to pat her shoulder and stops as the Almyran leader flies towards them. His hand hovers in the air and falls limply at his side.

The face that greets her is as it always was, brilliant green eyes, beard finally out to his chin, brown hair tousled back.

He’s tired. She can feel it in her bones as he stumbles off his wyvern, arms wrapping around her without a word.

He sighs into her hair as he squeezes her. She forgot what warmth felt like, what it felt like to be touched. The feeling electrifies her, scares her, like an iron coil wrapped around her. She wants to escape.

She pushes him, and he lets go easily.

“Claude.” The syllables fall out of her mouth. There’s a foreign prickle at her eyes.

“I’m here, my friend.”

There’s an ache in her chest at the word, at the voice, at its wearer.

“Seteth. Please contact the major nobles of Fódlan. You know who I mean.”

He nods and flies off to help with the cleanup. Byleth is left alone. 

She’s cold, so cold.

“It’s been a while, huh?” He scratches his head like a bashful child who broke a vase. “Almyran affairs took longer than I expected to sort out, and I had to practically beg Nader to watch the country while I visit.” For a moment her silent seconds feel like weapons, daggers in her hands to dig into his flesh. “But, hey, I’m here!”

Her eyes look not at him but through him, trying to decipher what the lilt to his voice means, what the smile-that-finally-reaches-his-eyes is trying to say. That smile, was it still reserved for her?

“How are you feeling?”

She answers, finally, when she can feel the soundless blood dripping down her hands. “Fine.”

His smile wavers for a moment but he continues on, swinging an arm around her shoulders. “‘Fine’ is great, after a battle like that. We should head into the castle and get cleaned up, yeah?”

She jolts and walks faster, forcing him to jog to catch up.

“Byleth? Are you okay?”

“Fine. But…” Words dance on her tongue, words far too small to encapsulate the feeling. “Please don’t touch me.”

He reads her then, reads her like an open book, because Byleth has never been one for hiding her emotions, what little she has, always bearing them on her sleeve.

He falls into a comfortable pace next to her, leaving a wide distance between them.

There are words floating in the air, millions of them. She should reach out, she knows, try to grab them, try to understand how the world managed to come between the two rulers in a matter of months. Her arms remain limp at her side.

There’s a feeling of regression in the air, clawing at her skin, and she feels like she’s hiding behind Jeralt as he negotiates with a fellow mercenary and she doesn’t understand. It’s not the words that are puzzling, it’s the emotions behind them, the nuance and weight behind the slightest inflection. The past’s hands grab at her, pulling her back.

“We’re here.” She looks up with a jolt and she sees Claude wave a hand in front of her face. “You sure you’re alright, my friend?”

“Certainly. I’ll lead you to the main hall,” she motions forward, nodding to the gatekeeper as they pass through. “We have much to discuss, and the whole Fódlan is already on its way.”

“So,” he smiles at her, “sudden uprising from those who slither aside, how’s Deidru been, my friend?”

“I’ve been observing the citizens when possible. They… like me,” she puzzles, “though I don’t understand why.”

“Ah, I’m sure it’s your natural charm. You always were a popular one.”

She stops suddenly. Her right hand brushes against her left to make sure and, yes, it’s gone.

“You coming?”

“... Yes. It’s nothing.” Byleth strides forward and he hurries after her. It was nothing more than a plaything anymore, a poisonous trinket. She would be fine without it.

The ghost of a ring flits over her fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic of mine, gosh, from August last year!


End file.
